[Fic] Break a Silver Lining
Title: Break a Silver Lining
Authors: analineblue and sariagray
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto
Warnings/Spoilers: none really, takes place post-Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~6,100
Summary: A long drive, some much-needed communication, and eventually, a sunrise.
Notes: So it seems that the things sariagray and I work on together seem to take on a life of their own before we realize it? ;) This one started out as Jack and Ianto sharing a long drive back to Cardiff, and talking about things they might not have brought up without an open road in front of them, and no one else for company, and then... It sort of turned into something else along the way. We hope you enjoy it though--we both had a lot of fun discovering where it wanted to go. :)
and i ride along side
and i rode along side
you then
and i rode along side
till you lost me there
in the open road
- Tori Amos, A Sorta Fairytale
**
They’ve been driving for hours.
The rain comes and goes, but so far, it’s been a smooth enough trip. Well, aside from having to watch Jack duke it out with his UNIT counterparts, it's been smooth enough.
Jack’s driving now, of course, has been for a while now.
Every now and then, they speak, words that roll along with the SUV’s tires on the asphalt, carrying them home.
The open road, and the rain, and the silence stirs something in Ianto, carries him off somewhere he’s sure he hasn’t been in ages. He stares at Jack’s profile for a moment against the backdrop of the rain-streaked window - that strong jaw, those cheekbones - and on a whim, he voices one of the questions that has been rattling around in his head ever since Jack’s miraculous, anticlimactic return.
“Would you leave with me?” Ianto asks, and even as the words leave his mouth, he realizes that he’s not entirely sure that he wants to know Jack’s answer.
“I wouldn’t ask you, not really,” he clarifies. “But theoretically. If I say…” Ianto searches his mind, for some dream he’d had, once. “If I bought a motorbike, packed a bag, said I was leaving forever… Would you come?”
Jack chuckles a little, eyes still on the road. “Ianto Jones, are you asking me to run away with you?”
“I… Well. Maybe,” Ianto says. “For purposes of this conversation, at least.”
Jack is quiet for a long moment. It’s started to rain again, a dim drizzle pattering against the windshield. Jack switches on the wipers, and in rhythm they swish against the glass. Ianto wonders, idly, if he’d remembered to roll up his car windows before they left yesterday.
“It depends,” Jack says finally and it takes Ianto a second to recall where they were in the conversation.
“On?”
“What kind of motorbike is it?”
Ianto cringes inwardly, though he blames it on the wipers screeching over the glass of the windshield. Really, he knows he should have expected to be blown off like this and he doesn’t actually blame Jack for doing it. Jack fiddles with the controls on the dashboard and Ianto realizes that the windows have fogged a little.
“Well?” Jack prompts.
“Doesn’t matter. Never mind.”
There’s another drawn out silence, marked only by the susurration of the SUV’s tires over the rain-slicked road. It’s deafening, yet lulling and Ianto resists the urge to close his eyes and doze off. He should, he thinks, because it isn’t like he’ll miss any dramatic revelations if he stays awake. Still, there is that small ounce of hope left in him that keeps his eyelids from drooping.
Jack clears his throat. “Why not?”
“Why not what?” Ianto asks sleepily. He even yawns, rolls his shoulders a little, stretches his neck.
“Why doesn’t it matter?”
Jack’s voice is distant and soft, almost as though he’s afraid of Ianto hearing the words. As it is, they barely register above the soothing hum of the engine and Ianto has to strain to make out what he’s saying. It’s dark out and there are no lights on the road, and for a moment Ianto lets himself get lost in the sea of never-ending black outside of the window.
“It does,” he finally confesses against the glass, fogging it up even more. “But no matter what you said, it wouldn’t change anything. Besides, it’s a hypothetical, remember?”
He turns his head slightly and looks at Jack, his face lit by the greenish glow of the digital display. He’s frowning, which Ianto finds a little odd.
“How do you know it wouldn’t change anything?” Jack asks quietly, his eyes never leaving the road.
And maybe it’s because the answer is so obvious, or because he thinks he knows what Jack wants him to say, but… Ianto just laughs. It doesn’t sound as forced as it probably should.
“Come on, Jack,” he says simply, a hint of admonishment in his tone.
“I don’t think it’s funny,” Jack says lightly, ignoring him. “You know, I do know how to handle a bike. You’d be riding in the sidecar most of the time, I think.”
Ianto smiles, despite himself. “There’s a sidecar?”
“Well, yeah,” Jack says, and Ianto just stares at him, shaking his head.
“What about Gwen?” Ianto says thoughtfully after a moment.
“She’s got Rhys. She’ll be fine.”
“Owen and Tosh?”
“I’ll send them on a long overdue holiday.”
“The rift?”
Jack looks over and winks. “We’ll close it before we go.”
Ianto just stares past him, out the window, at the sea of nothingness stretched out in front of them, at the rain.
He wishes he’d never said anything.
He wishes he could say more.
He shifts in his seat and stares at the console, which quickly informs him that Jack is driving too fast, again.
“So that’s it then, just close up shop, and head off into the sunset?”
“Why not?” Jack says, but his voice is sad, and Ianto’s chest is aching, and the whole thing just makes him want to throw up his hands in frustration. Open the door of the SUV and just abort the whole damn thing, maybe.
Instead he clamps down on all of it.
“Because we’re Torchwood, Jack,” he says, going for calm instead of grim. And if the distinction is a little blurred, so be it.
A length of time passes, somewhere between a pause and a silence, before Jack huffs out a breath of air.
“Says who?” he whispers, a man worn down by the tired excuse.
Ianto doesn’t begrudge him the exhaustion, can only imagine how long “being” Torchwood has plagued Jack’s life up to this point. But he knows neither of them would leave under any circumstance - they’ve both already proven that even the deepest, most idealistic love couldn’t drag them away from their dank underground lair.
“It’s a good thing we found each other,” Ianto mutters darkly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
There is a bite to Jack’s tone, the sharp sting of acid, and Ianto has been around him long enough to know what it conceals. He runs his hand through his hair and closes his eyes.
“Nothing,” he admits softly. “Nothing. Just…it’s good, that’s all.”
Maybe Ianto’s misjudged the situation entirely, because Jack’s hand is suddenly warming a small patch of his thigh through the smooth fabric of his charcoal suit trousers. He hadn’t even realized he was cold before, but now he shivers a little and reaches to turn up the heat.
The road stretches out before them, miles and miles of it, reflecting their headlights while Jack idly caresses him. It isn’t meant to be erotic in the slightest, as far as Ianto can tell. It feels more like he’s trying to soothe a wild, untamed animal. Or maybe trying to read him with his fingertips, like Braille.
“So,” Jack says after a moment, his voice clear and strong. “What brought this on, anyway?”
Ianto’s stomach plummets, as if on cue.
Shit, he thinks, and sits up a little straighter. Jack keeps his hand where it is, though, and Ianto can’t decide if it’s comforting, or maddening.
Ianto had sort of assumed that he’d be less on edge now that Jack had finally come back, but somehow that hadn’t really been the case. He supposed they needed to talk, too, but… he wasn’t sure that he knew how to do that anymore.
It’d been months, after all. Longer maybe, on Jack’s end.
And sometimes the weirdness of it all gets to him, stops him right in his tracks and makes him reevaluate, well, everything.
“Just thinking, I guess,” he says eventually.
“About?”
“I don’t know, okay? You, me, Torchwood? You were gone a long time,” Ianto says quickly, and in his head it doesn’t sound quite so much like an accusation. “And then you come back, and it’s supposed to be…” Ianto waves his hand. “Well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be.”
He realizes that he’s been almost shouting when Jack glances at him, a little wide-eyed, like he’s waiting for what’s coming next. It completely deflates him.
“Sorry,” Ianto says, and breathes out once, twice, slowly.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Jack says, and to Ianto’s surprise, he looks almost relieved. “I can take it.”
“I don’t--”
“You have every right to be angry.”
“Shut up, Jack.”
Jack just raises his eyebrows.
“What makes you think you have the right to decide that anyway?”
There's a long pause, and then Jack, infuriatingly, gives his leg an affectionate squeeze.
“I missed this,” he says fondly, and Ianto curses the flush it brings to his cheeks.
And he isn’t entirely sure if Jack missed physical contact or being put in his place; he’s assuming the latter, but with Jack, it’s impossible to tell.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters, mostly to save face, and is surprised to find that it’s the one thing he’s said all night that makes Jack flinch.
Not only flinch, actually, but also remove his hand to white-knuckle the steering wheel, as if he’s trying to ride out a debilitating shock of pain. Ianto hates it, the warmth and its absence, the way he can go from being completely frustrated at Jack for being kind and then utterly infatuated the moment Jack shuts down.
“What?” he attempts to mollify. “What is it? What’d I say?”
It isn’t quite desperate, but it’s close and he considers the possibility that he has a severe case of borderline personality disorder. He fills the void created by Jack’s speechlessness by ticking off all of the disorders he can remember: narcissistic, avoidant, dependent, schizotypal, antisocial, histrionic….That he can conjure up faces to go with each makes him nervous.
Jack’s jaw clenches and he shakes his head.
“Nothing,” he spits out choppily. “You’re right.”
“Jack,” Ianto sighs. “When are you going to tell me what happened to you?”
Because really, the one disorder Ianto knows all too well? Jack’s been exhibiting every symptom since his return.
Jack actually sort of sneers at him then, and Ianto shivers.
"Jack, look, you know I don't want to pry, and if you don't want to tell me--"
"I don't," Jack snaps.
Ianto lets out a breath. Fine, okay, it's what he expected, really. He nods. "Okay, but--"
"You've really got a lot of nerve, you know that?"
Jack's voice is cold - icy, even. Ianto closes his eyes. "I didn't mean..."
"You accused me once of never asking you anything about your life. Do you remember that?"
Ianto swallows past the bile that threatens to rise up from his stomach. His mouth tastes sour. It doesn’t make any sense, but somehow, with just a few words, Jack has brought about a thousand unwelcome memories to the surface. He’d thought he was over this sort of knee-jerk reaction, but… Well, maybe some things never completely disappear. He stares forward, a little shell-shocked.
"Well?"
The words seem to echo off the interior of the SUV. Ianto is dimly aware of Jack's foot, heavy on the accelerator. Outside, the blackness rushes by.
"Answer me," Jack practically growls, impatient.
"Yes," Ianto says, but he's not sure he's said it out loud so he says it again, louder, so Jack is definitely able to hear him. "Yes."
There's a long period of silence where they just barrel on, Jack gunning the SUV through the darkness like he’s trying to outrun something. Ianto wonders for a moment if he's even going to say anything else. He expects he will, though, so Ianto just stares forward, waiting for it.
"Well, then you should be able to understand, shouldn't you," Jack says, finally.
"I..." Ianto blinks, his confusion jarring him from several therapists worth of repressed memories. "What?"
"I've been back for almost a month."
Out of nowhere, the increasing speed of the SUV drops drastically. They’re coasting now, over the slick roadway, barely making progress. Ianto feels dizzy, confused, almost like he’d been drugged. He laughs, a little hysterically.
“What? You were waiting for me to ask?”
Jack opens his mouth to answer, but Ianto cuts him off to continue. “No, don’t. I didn’t ask, you’re right. Do you know why? Because Gwen reported back to us all that you were broadcasting nothing but radio silence. And I figured -”
Ianto’s voice drops from its angry slur of words to something soft and mournful, and he glances out of the window.
“I figured if you hadn’t told her yet, you certainly weren’t going to tell me.”
Jack emits a sharp, pained noise and Ianto hazards a quick glance at him. In the strange, surreal glow, he can see that the tight lines of Jack’s face have eased. The SUV veers to the right jerkily as Jack parks them on the side of the roadway.
Ianto doesn’t move, doesn’t say a thing, but watches out of the corner of his eye as Jack rests his head on the steering wheel and takes a deep, shaky breath. The rain falls harder and it drowns out the sounds of the still-running engine and the constant swish of the wipers. Visibility has decreased, sure, but he’s fairly certain that that has nothing to do with why Jack pulled over.
He starts when the solid heat of Jack’s hand finds its way back to his thigh, and he looks up curiously, a bit panicked. Jack looks, surprisingly, gentle and apologetic and Ianto is stunned that the combined power of their mood swings hasn’t set the earth off its axis yet. He also isn’t entirely certain what Jack is looking apologetic about.
“Where?” Jack asks, a touch of anxiety in his tone.
Ianto blinks again, hazily. “Where what?”
“Normally, I would suggest driving off into the sunset, but it’s dark out. And we don’t have a motorbike, just the SUV. It isn’t ideal, I know, but we can always sell it on the way.”
It's a full thirty seconds before Ianto is able to piece Jack's words together in his mind in some way in which they make sense, and when he does, well, he knows the whole speechless thing is getting old, but to be fair...what the hell is he supposed to say to that?
Then Jack turns off the engine, and it's like the darkness around them is closing in, it's so quiet without that constant hum, and Jack's hand is still on his thigh, and he just.... Well, he really should have known better than to have started this whole thing in the first place, if he didn't want to finish it, he figures.
"Come on," Jack says. His voice is soft, and Ianto can't quite figure out if he's sad, or hurt, or frustrated, but it makes him shift in his seat a little, makes him wish he could get closer to Jack, just for a second. "Humor me," Jack finishes, and Ianto can't help but close his hand over Jack's, can't help but rub his rough fingers along the side of Jack's palm.
"Scotland," Ianto says finally, and the soft smile that crosses Jack's face would have weakened his knees if he hadn't already been sitting down. "I've never been, but my aunt Dorothy always said it was the greenest place she'd ever seen."
"I thought that was Ireland," Jack says, and he turns his hand over so that they're palm to palm.
Ianto swallows, and it catches in his throat. "Well, you know, Ireland is fine, too. Never been there, either. You?" Ianto asks, forgetting for a second who he's talking to, and how little sense that question makes.
Jack just nods and stares forward. The rain batters down around them, picking up steam from somewhere. Ianto's mostly stuck on the blood rushing in his ears though, as Jack grips his hand tightly.
"I wonder if that place is still around..." Jack muses quietly, then smiles over at Ianto. "I stayed on a farm in Scotland, once. The family who ran the bed and breakfast…," he trails off, then grins. "Well, we could head in that direction, anyway, see what we find?"
Ianto stares at him as if he's just suggested opening the rift for kicks, or something equally preposterous.
"Head in that direction? Jack, it's got to be at least an eight hour drive from here."
Jack shrugs slightly. “We’ll stop for coffee.”
Of course, because lack of caffeine is clearly the only thing preventing them from this ridiculously spontaneous and ill-conceived journey.
“We’ve only got one spare set of clothes each. And what about the others?”
When he finishes his sentence, it dawns on Ianto that he isn’t so much trying to talk Jack out of this absurd notion. No, it feels much more like he’s testing his conviction - he actually wants Jack to brush off the inconveniences and drive. Just…drive. And that absolutely terrifies him.
Jack shoots him a half smile. “Scotland does have shops, you know. Shops that sell clothes. It’s the perfect excuse for me to get you in a kilt.”
Ianto allows himself a small, surprised laugh and shakes his head. “And the others?”
“We’ll tell them that UNIT’s requested our input on an urgent matter that required our presence at Torchwood Two and we won’t be back for a week,” Jack suggests with a twinkle in his eye.
That twinkle makes Ianto nervous, makes him question Jack’s seriousness. Either they do this and he spends his time worrying over his responsibilities, or they don’t and he spends his time worrying about missed opportunities. He sighs and gives one final feeble attempt at turning back.
“We’ve already been driving three hours,” he points out. “We should stop off home, get some sleep, grab necessities -”
Jack shakes his head and turns the key in the ignition. The way the SUV roars back to life makes Ianto jump.
“If we don’t go now, we’ll talk ourselves out of it. Send the team a message.”
Ianto is well aware that there was never any turning back since he first opened his mouth, and it’s oddly relieving. The way the road stretches out before them, still, begins to feel more like a promise than a burden. Ianto pulls out his mobile and sends a quick, succinct text that will probably lead to a whole flurry of probing questions. Jack’s hand squeezes his thigh and Ianto inclines his head just so.
“You win,” he smiles. “Drive.”
**
An hour later, they realize they're almost out of petrol, and nothing's open. Of course.
"Bloody Welsh," Jack moans, as they pull up to the third darkened station in thirty minutes. "I swear, you'd think this was England, or something. Why is nothing open?"
Ianto just smiles at him calmly.
"It's four in the morning, Jack."
"So?"
"So everyone's asleep. Like we would be. You know," he stares at him, trying to frown, but feeling his lips twist up into a slight smile anyway; Jack's energy is a bit infectious, after all. "Normally."
"Normally, we would be sitting in the hub waiting for the rift to drop some crap or another in our laps," Jack reminds him, but his eyes still have that familiar twinkle in them. Ianto hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it. "But whatever."
"We can still make it a while longer," Ianto tells him. "Sun'll be up soon, too, so--"
And that's when Jack suddenly leans over the seat and presses his lips to Ianto's mouth. The center console is in the way between them, and it means that Jack has to lean over him awkwardly, all his weight on his arms, and it throws Ianto's balance off just slightly. His head ends up sliding against the window with a dull thunk.
Jack chuckles deep in his throat. "Sorry," he whispers against Ianto's lips. "You okay?"
Ianto shakes his head as much as he can, and then grabs the collar of Jack's coat, pulling him towards him again. He's not quite sure where all this drive is coming from - it wasn't so long ago that he'd wanted nothing more than for Jack to just leave him standing out in the rain while he drove back to the hub without him, for god's sake, but now... now all he can think about is how very, very much he'd missed this.
His lips pressed against Jack’s, their bodies close and awkward, and it’s all Ianto can do to form a sensible, coherent thought. He manages, though, in twice the amount of time it would normally take him.
“At least turn off the engine,” he suggests breathlessly, his lips ghosting over the corner of Jack’s mouth. “Maybe we can wait here until they open.”
Jack grins against his mouth. “And whatever shall we do to occupy ourselves for the next couple of hours, Mr. Jones?”
Pulling away completely, Ianto laughs. “Sleep.”
“Oh, come on. I’ve got you all alone in the middle of nowhere and you want me to sleep?”
Jack gradually runs his fingertips up Ianto’s leg, making his breath hitch. He glances down and then back up at Ianto, a playfully confused frown on his face.
“Your leg’s glowing,” he says casually. “I’m going to take it as a compliment.”
“My - what?” Ianto glances down, too, and chuckles, shifting his body to pull out his mobile. He glances at the device. “It’s Tosh.”
“Tosh made your leg glow? Should I be jealous?” Jack winks and finally turns off the SUV.
“She wants to know if everything’s all right and when we’ll be back. She also notes that Gwen had spoken with UNIT earlier this evening and nothing at all was mentioned about Torchwood Two. She says ‘Have fun’ and has quite graciously included a little winking emoticon.”
Jack laughs heartily. “Tell her everything is lovely and to get some sleep.”
Smiling a little guiltily, Ianto nods and types out a quick message. He would almost prefer if she were angry with them for booking off like this - it’d make everything much easier to deal with. He sends the message, tucks his phone back in his pocket, and turns to Jack.
“What’re we doing?” he asks and then clamps his lips shut; that wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say. Not at all, in fact.
Jack is staring at him, with this funny sort of fond-verging-on-dopey look on his face, and Ianto just blinks at him.
"Jack?" He says, because Jack's still staring, smiling a little now, but mostly just staring. "Hello?"
Jack blinks, smiles a little wider. "It's really good to be back," he says, and then leans back in his seat calmly.
"You've been back for a month," Ianto deadpans. "I think we covered that already, actually."
Jack narrows his eyes. "You asked what we were doing. And I don't know about you, but that's what I was doing."
Ianto is usually pretty good at wrapping his brain around Jack's words, but then again, it's four in the morning, and he's been caffeine-deprived for hours now. He raises his eyebrows, hoping for further clarification.
Jack just stares forward, oblivious. Then he worries his lip a little guiltily.
"Fine," he says, eyes darting away for a second. "I was thinking about how lucky I am that you took me back, okay?"
Ianto stares at him. "I didn't take anything, Jack." Then he softens his voice a little. "I mean, this is just..." And he tries for a gesture that somehow encompasses everything he shares with Jack, but which ends up being mostly a sweeping wave of his hand between them.
Jack shakes his head. "You took me back," he says, and Ianto's throat goes a little dry.
"Why?" Jack asks, turning to him.
"I don't know."
Jack laughs a little. "That might be a problem."
"What do you want me to say?" Ianto asks, honestly.
"Say whatever you want, Ianto," Jack says, and his name on Jack's lips sends a shiver, right down Ianto's spine.
"That," Ianto says, without thinking. "The way you say my name."
Jack smirks a little. "What about it?"
And Ianto stares at Jack, really looks at him for a moment. Really takes in the enormity of everything he is - or at least he tries to, anyway. And then he quickly finds himself distracted by the way Jack's jaw line curves to meet his chin, by the line of his lips. He finds Jack's eyes, meets them.
"No one says my name like that."
Jack smiles softly and leans closer, conspiratorially. “Ianto,” he drawls. “Ianto. Ianto,” he drops his voice to a whisper.
Ianto closes his eyes, his body trembling slightly, and he chastises himself for even mentioning it, knows he’s in trouble now. Jack presses his lips to his jaw and mouths ‘Ianto’ against his skin. And it’s not simply the way Jack says his name, not simply the particular roll of the vowels, or the sharp plosive, or any of that. No. It’s the way the sounds float off of Jack’s lips like a prayer, a benediction, even in their most raging, wrathful moments.
“Ianto,” Jack whispers into his ear, the warm breath sending a chill down his spine.
He reaches out and takes Jack’s jaw in his hand, turning his head so that they face each other head on. He leans forward until looking at Jack makes him cross-eyed, their mouths so close that they’re sharing air. It makes it difficult to breathe, but Ianto isn’t really concerned with that.
“I didn’t take you back,” he says softly. Jack opens his mouth to disagree, but Ianto talks over him. “How could I take you back when I never let you go?”
Time stops for a split second and Ianto’s thoughts spiral into a flurry of self-doubt and the constant mantra of “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, they sounded so pathetic and stupid.
But then time catches up and Jack’s mouth is hungrily trying to devour his own and he can barely remember where they are, let alone what he’s just said.
And it's funny, Ianto had spent hours, maybe days during Jack's absence trying to recall this feeling, but in the end, his memories are nothing like the real thing.
This isn't the first time he's been close to Jack since he's been back, but there's something different, something special about Jack's lips pressed against his like this, like time has stopped, like there's nowhere else either of them would rather be, like it's an active choice to be doing this right here, right now. It's different than in the hub - those quick, hurried moments are satisfying in their own way, but... This, Ianto thinks, this is what he's been missing, like a lost limb, for months and months now.
He breathes Jack in, and everything is so much more alive than he had remembered; the energy seems to pulse off of him in waves. There's nothing desperate at all about Jack's intensity either, and Ianto figures maybe that's because they've already done that, they've already spent enough time clinging to each other over these past few weeks. This is about something else now.
This feels like an affirmation.
Jack's tongue darts over his lips playfully, and Ianto's heart feels like it might burst.
"I missed you," Jack says, his lips still brushing across Ianto's mouth lightly, like he can't decide whether or not he wants to speak, or to continue what is turning into a rather epic make out session. "Not just this though. Everything. I missed you."
And then Jack's voice drops a little, and Ianto can feel him shiver. "I wasn't sure I was coming back, honestly. And all I could think about was how much you'd hate me."
"I could never hate you," Ianto says, and presses his lips to Jack's. "Never."
There’s a lot behind that statement, too. They aren’t just words tossed about, because Ianto has tried to hate Jack numerous times. He’s had ample reason to, really, and has practically meditated on contempt. Hatred, like death, simply just doesn’t stick to Jack. At least, not where Ianto’s concerned.
Jack makes some sort of indistinguishable noise against Ianto’s mouth and then sighs contentedly.
“You’d be the first,” he murmurs as he pulls away.
Ianto tries to follow, but there’s the whole center console issue in between them and he wonders if he can talk Jack into the backseat. Then he tries very hard not to laugh at himself for thinking he’d actually have to actively persuade Jack Harkness into anything of the sort.
He opens his mouth to ask, but Jack is looking at the horizon as though he’s waiting for something, and so Ianto looks, too.
“Sun’s coming up,” Jack quietly informs and then grasps Ianto’s hand. His thumb rubs small circles into Ianto’s palm, and it’s somehow even more intimate than their previous actions.
“Are you trying to watch a sunrise with me?” Ianto asks, hoping the amusement in his voice sufficiently covers the loud beating of his heart.
Jack chuckles. “Maybe.”
“Well,” Ianto says, taking a deep, fortifying breath. “We’re facing in the wrong direction for that.”
He opens the door to the SUV and Jack looks at him curiously. Ianto simply nods with his head, the only indication that Jack should follow. The early morning air is cold but sweet. There’s a clarity to it that cuts through the sleepy fog in his brain as he opens the back of the SUV. Jack stands back, watches, and Ianto can feel the gaze sweep over his body. It’s oddly reassuring. Shifting the box they’d retrieved from UNIT, he settles himself down, as comfortably as he can manage in the tight space.
“Coming?” he asks Jack with a raised eyebrow.
The rain had stopped a while ago, and above them the sky is clearing.
Jack settles down next to him, his coat wrapped around him like a blanket, and Ianto is suddenly acutely aware of his heart in his chest, thumping a little wildly as Jack's hand snakes around his waist. Their fingers brush together lightly as he finds a comfortable position.
There's a lump in Ianto’s throat that he has to swallow past before he can speak - at least he thinks he might want to speak, but when he glances over at Jack, at his profile in the early morning light, at his eyes, the way they're catching little flecks of brightness in them, he finds that he honestly just doesn't have it in him to disturb this moment.
He wonders with a sudden intensity that only makes his heart thump faster, how many sunrises must Jack have witnessed already on this planet, or on others, landscapes that he can’t even begin to imagine.
He draws in a long breath of crisp air. Doesn't matter, he tells himself, and concentrates on Jack's smooth fingertips, on the warmth of Jack’s body next to him.
He closes his eyes against the urge to make several sudden, absolutely mad confessions about everything from his feelings for Jack, to his philosophy on the universe, to the meaning of life itself. Instead he just rests his head on Jack's shoulder for a moment, and breathes.
“This is nice,” Jack says finally, and Ianto realizes he hasn’t opened his eyes in a while.
He opens them now, and the light on the horizon in front of them is so brilliant, it almost takes his breath away.
‘Nice’ doesn’t really do it justice, so he nudges Jack’s shoulder with his own. The movement is awkward at best, the contorted position they’re currently in making any pointed gesture difficult to execute. Still, Jack nudges back and kisses the top of his head. Ianto hums in response. It isn’t really a conversation, but it conveys enough.
“When was the last time you saw a sunrise?” Jack asks, the words quietly pressed into Ianto’s hair, teasing the strands with his breath.
“Yesterday,” Ianto mumbles sleepily. “We left before six, remember?”
Jack chuckles. “No, I mean actually saw a sunrise?”
“Oh.” The word is a breath on the breeze, carried out over the expanse of grey-green hills before them. “I don’t remember. You?”
Yet another question he immediately wishes to retract. He doesn’t want to think about it, really, but there is a part of him that wants to know. The clouds above him meander sluggishly passed the half-sun dancing on the horizon, tipped in gold and pink. The sky is melting from purple to pale blue.
“It’s been a while,” Jack admits from somewhere far away. “I see more sunsets than sunrises.”
Ianto moves closer; it seems like the only thing he can do as he tries to figure out whether Jack is being literal, metaphorical, or both.
“The station should open soon,” he finally says.
"Bugger," Jack says, a little glumly, but then turns to Ianto with one of those flashing, blinding smiles that always threatens to melt Ianto's heart from the inside out.
"What?" he asks, laughing when Jack leans into him a little, nose poking against Ianto's cheek.
"Well, I guess the SUV does have tinted windows..." He grins. "So that you can get some sleep," he clarifies, and then his smile turns a little softer. "You look tired," Jack says, and then stares out at the sky.
"I can sleep while you drive, you know."
"Maybe I wanted to join you."
Ianto smiles a little, and turns to Jack. "We could also find a motel, or something. You know, with an actual bed."
Jack just nods absently, his attention elsewhere, and Ianto follows his gaze. Out on the horizon, Ianto can just make out the dark shapes of mountains off in the distance, rising out of the clouds, smeared with bright yellow-orange light at the base, but with clouds still hovering at the top.
And then the light glows just so, and a hazy memory comes into focus - not his last sunrise he's sure, but...
Her name had been Maggie. It'd been March, and they’d wandered around until almost dawn, dirty piles of snow still melting around the edges of the streets. They’d spent hours smoking cigarettes, and trying to convince the old guys hanging round outside the pub on High Street to snag them a few beers. When that didn’t work, they’d climbed up on a wall behind an abandoned car park, and watched the sun peek up over the houses below them. She’d swung her feet too hard, and Ianto’d had to climb down to retrieve her shoe so that they could walk home. He’d been 14, and at the end of the whole thing he’d gotten to second base, back in her parent’s bedroom, and it had been brilliant.
Ten years later, and he’s pretty sure this one is better - no offense to Maggie.
“You’re thinking,” Jack stage whispers, a hint of accusation in his voice, but it’s light and free of worry.
“Sorry. Won’t let it happen again,” Ianto smiles. “We should get…” he waves his hand around vaguely. “Petrol. And coffee. When they open.” He yawns.
“I think you’re well beyond coffee, Mr. Jones.”
Pressing his face into Jack’s shoulder, Ianto yawns again. “’M fine, really. We’ve got…long drive.”
He isn’t sure how the exhaustion managed to just completely waylay him, but he feels it creep into his bones and settle there contentedly. Some unseen hand forces his eyes closed and Maggie says something about milk, which makes Jack laugh and tell Owen to bring the cats inside because it’s almost time for Scrabble; John Hart will be there soon and really, the post can’t be delayed by another tomato epidemic, and everything seems soft and warm and he can hear Jack’s heartbeat a thousand miles away.
“Ianto,” it says.
Except that hearts don’t talk. Right. That would be Jack.
He blinks his eyes open, though the muscles are reluctant to move.
“Hrmph?”
Jack’s eyes crinkle in the corners. They’re suspiciously bright and joyful but Ianto doesn’t want to question anything right now.
“Get in the front. I’m going to fill up the SUV, and then we’ll find a place to rest, okay?”
“Mmm,” he mumbles as he untangles himself from Jack’s arms and legs and the cramped back of the vehicle. “And then Scotland?”
It seems like another part of his delusional sleep-thoughts, but Jack is nodding enthusiastically, honestly, even.
“And then Scotland.”
***
Thanks for reading! (And this probably goes without saying, but... Comments do make us quite happy. ♥)
Authors: analineblue and sariagray
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto
Warnings/Spoilers: none really, takes place post-Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~6,100
Summary: A long drive, some much-needed communication, and eventually, a sunrise.
Notes: So it seems that the things sariagray and I work on together seem to take on a life of their own before we realize it? ;) This one started out as Jack and Ianto sharing a long drive back to Cardiff, and talking about things they might not have brought up without an open road in front of them, and no one else for company, and then... It sort of turned into something else along the way. We hope you enjoy it though--we both had a lot of fun discovering where it wanted to go. :)
and i ride along side
and i rode along side
you then
and i rode along side
till you lost me there
in the open road
- Tori Amos, A Sorta Fairytale
**
They’ve been driving for hours.
The rain comes and goes, but so far, it’s been a smooth enough trip. Well, aside from having to watch Jack duke it out with his UNIT counterparts, it's been smooth enough.
Jack’s driving now, of course, has been for a while now.
Every now and then, they speak, words that roll along with the SUV’s tires on the asphalt, carrying them home.
The open road, and the rain, and the silence stirs something in Ianto, carries him off somewhere he’s sure he hasn’t been in ages. He stares at Jack’s profile for a moment against the backdrop of the rain-streaked window - that strong jaw, those cheekbones - and on a whim, he voices one of the questions that has been rattling around in his head ever since Jack’s miraculous, anticlimactic return.
“Would you leave with me?” Ianto asks, and even as the words leave his mouth, he realizes that he’s not entirely sure that he wants to know Jack’s answer.
“I wouldn’t ask you, not really,” he clarifies. “But theoretically. If I say…” Ianto searches his mind, for some dream he’d had, once. “If I bought a motorbike, packed a bag, said I was leaving forever… Would you come?”
Jack chuckles a little, eyes still on the road. “Ianto Jones, are you asking me to run away with you?”
“I… Well. Maybe,” Ianto says. “For purposes of this conversation, at least.”
Jack is quiet for a long moment. It’s started to rain again, a dim drizzle pattering against the windshield. Jack switches on the wipers, and in rhythm they swish against the glass. Ianto wonders, idly, if he’d remembered to roll up his car windows before they left yesterday.
“It depends,” Jack says finally and it takes Ianto a second to recall where they were in the conversation.
“On?”
“What kind of motorbike is it?”
Ianto cringes inwardly, though he blames it on the wipers screeching over the glass of the windshield. Really, he knows he should have expected to be blown off like this and he doesn’t actually blame Jack for doing it. Jack fiddles with the controls on the dashboard and Ianto realizes that the windows have fogged a little.
“Well?” Jack prompts.
“Doesn’t matter. Never mind.”
There’s another drawn out silence, marked only by the susurration of the SUV’s tires over the rain-slicked road. It’s deafening, yet lulling and Ianto resists the urge to close his eyes and doze off. He should, he thinks, because it isn’t like he’ll miss any dramatic revelations if he stays awake. Still, there is that small ounce of hope left in him that keeps his eyelids from drooping.
Jack clears his throat. “Why not?”
“Why not what?” Ianto asks sleepily. He even yawns, rolls his shoulders a little, stretches his neck.
“Why doesn’t it matter?”
Jack’s voice is distant and soft, almost as though he’s afraid of Ianto hearing the words. As it is, they barely register above the soothing hum of the engine and Ianto has to strain to make out what he’s saying. It’s dark out and there are no lights on the road, and for a moment Ianto lets himself get lost in the sea of never-ending black outside of the window.
“It does,” he finally confesses against the glass, fogging it up even more. “But no matter what you said, it wouldn’t change anything. Besides, it’s a hypothetical, remember?”
He turns his head slightly and looks at Jack, his face lit by the greenish glow of the digital display. He’s frowning, which Ianto finds a little odd.
“How do you know it wouldn’t change anything?” Jack asks quietly, his eyes never leaving the road.
And maybe it’s because the answer is so obvious, or because he thinks he knows what Jack wants him to say, but… Ianto just laughs. It doesn’t sound as forced as it probably should.
“Come on, Jack,” he says simply, a hint of admonishment in his tone.
“I don’t think it’s funny,” Jack says lightly, ignoring him. “You know, I do know how to handle a bike. You’d be riding in the sidecar most of the time, I think.”
Ianto smiles, despite himself. “There’s a sidecar?”
“Well, yeah,” Jack says, and Ianto just stares at him, shaking his head.
“What about Gwen?” Ianto says thoughtfully after a moment.
“She’s got Rhys. She’ll be fine.”
“Owen and Tosh?”
“I’ll send them on a long overdue holiday.”
“The rift?”
Jack looks over and winks. “We’ll close it before we go.”
Ianto just stares past him, out the window, at the sea of nothingness stretched out in front of them, at the rain.
He wishes he’d never said anything.
He wishes he could say more.
He shifts in his seat and stares at the console, which quickly informs him that Jack is driving too fast, again.
“So that’s it then, just close up shop, and head off into the sunset?”
“Why not?” Jack says, but his voice is sad, and Ianto’s chest is aching, and the whole thing just makes him want to throw up his hands in frustration. Open the door of the SUV and just abort the whole damn thing, maybe.
Instead he clamps down on all of it.
“Because we’re Torchwood, Jack,” he says, going for calm instead of grim. And if the distinction is a little blurred, so be it.
A length of time passes, somewhere between a pause and a silence, before Jack huffs out a breath of air.
“Says who?” he whispers, a man worn down by the tired excuse.
Ianto doesn’t begrudge him the exhaustion, can only imagine how long “being” Torchwood has plagued Jack’s life up to this point. But he knows neither of them would leave under any circumstance - they’ve both already proven that even the deepest, most idealistic love couldn’t drag them away from their dank underground lair.
“It’s a good thing we found each other,” Ianto mutters darkly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
There is a bite to Jack’s tone, the sharp sting of acid, and Ianto has been around him long enough to know what it conceals. He runs his hand through his hair and closes his eyes.
“Nothing,” he admits softly. “Nothing. Just…it’s good, that’s all.”
Maybe Ianto’s misjudged the situation entirely, because Jack’s hand is suddenly warming a small patch of his thigh through the smooth fabric of his charcoal suit trousers. He hadn’t even realized he was cold before, but now he shivers a little and reaches to turn up the heat.
The road stretches out before them, miles and miles of it, reflecting their headlights while Jack idly caresses him. It isn’t meant to be erotic in the slightest, as far as Ianto can tell. It feels more like he’s trying to soothe a wild, untamed animal. Or maybe trying to read him with his fingertips, like Braille.
“So,” Jack says after a moment, his voice clear and strong. “What brought this on, anyway?”
Ianto’s stomach plummets, as if on cue.
Shit, he thinks, and sits up a little straighter. Jack keeps his hand where it is, though, and Ianto can’t decide if it’s comforting, or maddening.
Ianto had sort of assumed that he’d be less on edge now that Jack had finally come back, but somehow that hadn’t really been the case. He supposed they needed to talk, too, but… he wasn’t sure that he knew how to do that anymore.
It’d been months, after all. Longer maybe, on Jack’s end.
And sometimes the weirdness of it all gets to him, stops him right in his tracks and makes him reevaluate, well, everything.
“Just thinking, I guess,” he says eventually.
“About?”
“I don’t know, okay? You, me, Torchwood? You were gone a long time,” Ianto says quickly, and in his head it doesn’t sound quite so much like an accusation. “And then you come back, and it’s supposed to be…” Ianto waves his hand. “Well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be.”
He realizes that he’s been almost shouting when Jack glances at him, a little wide-eyed, like he’s waiting for what’s coming next. It completely deflates him.
“Sorry,” Ianto says, and breathes out once, twice, slowly.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Jack says, and to Ianto’s surprise, he looks almost relieved. “I can take it.”
“I don’t--”
“You have every right to be angry.”
“Shut up, Jack.”
Jack just raises his eyebrows.
“What makes you think you have the right to decide that anyway?”
There's a long pause, and then Jack, infuriatingly, gives his leg an affectionate squeeze.
“I missed this,” he says fondly, and Ianto curses the flush it brings to his cheeks.
And he isn’t entirely sure if Jack missed physical contact or being put in his place; he’s assuming the latter, but with Jack, it’s impossible to tell.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters, mostly to save face, and is surprised to find that it’s the one thing he’s said all night that makes Jack flinch.
Not only flinch, actually, but also remove his hand to white-knuckle the steering wheel, as if he’s trying to ride out a debilitating shock of pain. Ianto hates it, the warmth and its absence, the way he can go from being completely frustrated at Jack for being kind and then utterly infatuated the moment Jack shuts down.
“What?” he attempts to mollify. “What is it? What’d I say?”
It isn’t quite desperate, but it’s close and he considers the possibility that he has a severe case of borderline personality disorder. He fills the void created by Jack’s speechlessness by ticking off all of the disorders he can remember: narcissistic, avoidant, dependent, schizotypal, antisocial, histrionic….That he can conjure up faces to go with each makes him nervous.
Jack’s jaw clenches and he shakes his head.
“Nothing,” he spits out choppily. “You’re right.”
“Jack,” Ianto sighs. “When are you going to tell me what happened to you?”
Because really, the one disorder Ianto knows all too well? Jack’s been exhibiting every symptom since his return.
Jack actually sort of sneers at him then, and Ianto shivers.
"Jack, look, you know I don't want to pry, and if you don't want to tell me--"
"I don't," Jack snaps.
Ianto lets out a breath. Fine, okay, it's what he expected, really. He nods. "Okay, but--"
"You've really got a lot of nerve, you know that?"
Jack's voice is cold - icy, even. Ianto closes his eyes. "I didn't mean..."
"You accused me once of never asking you anything about your life. Do you remember that?"
Ianto swallows past the bile that threatens to rise up from his stomach. His mouth tastes sour. It doesn’t make any sense, but somehow, with just a few words, Jack has brought about a thousand unwelcome memories to the surface. He’d thought he was over this sort of knee-jerk reaction, but… Well, maybe some things never completely disappear. He stares forward, a little shell-shocked.
"Well?"
The words seem to echo off the interior of the SUV. Ianto is dimly aware of Jack's foot, heavy on the accelerator. Outside, the blackness rushes by.
"Answer me," Jack practically growls, impatient.
"Yes," Ianto says, but he's not sure he's said it out loud so he says it again, louder, so Jack is definitely able to hear him. "Yes."
There's a long period of silence where they just barrel on, Jack gunning the SUV through the darkness like he’s trying to outrun something. Ianto wonders for a moment if he's even going to say anything else. He expects he will, though, so Ianto just stares forward, waiting for it.
"Well, then you should be able to understand, shouldn't you," Jack says, finally.
"I..." Ianto blinks, his confusion jarring him from several therapists worth of repressed memories. "What?"
"I've been back for almost a month."
Out of nowhere, the increasing speed of the SUV drops drastically. They’re coasting now, over the slick roadway, barely making progress. Ianto feels dizzy, confused, almost like he’d been drugged. He laughs, a little hysterically.
“What? You were waiting for me to ask?”
Jack opens his mouth to answer, but Ianto cuts him off to continue. “No, don’t. I didn’t ask, you’re right. Do you know why? Because Gwen reported back to us all that you were broadcasting nothing but radio silence. And I figured -”
Ianto’s voice drops from its angry slur of words to something soft and mournful, and he glances out of the window.
“I figured if you hadn’t told her yet, you certainly weren’t going to tell me.”
Jack emits a sharp, pained noise and Ianto hazards a quick glance at him. In the strange, surreal glow, he can see that the tight lines of Jack’s face have eased. The SUV veers to the right jerkily as Jack parks them on the side of the roadway.
Ianto doesn’t move, doesn’t say a thing, but watches out of the corner of his eye as Jack rests his head on the steering wheel and takes a deep, shaky breath. The rain falls harder and it drowns out the sounds of the still-running engine and the constant swish of the wipers. Visibility has decreased, sure, but he’s fairly certain that that has nothing to do with why Jack pulled over.
He starts when the solid heat of Jack’s hand finds its way back to his thigh, and he looks up curiously, a bit panicked. Jack looks, surprisingly, gentle and apologetic and Ianto is stunned that the combined power of their mood swings hasn’t set the earth off its axis yet. He also isn’t entirely certain what Jack is looking apologetic about.
“Where?” Jack asks, a touch of anxiety in his tone.
Ianto blinks again, hazily. “Where what?”
“Normally, I would suggest driving off into the sunset, but it’s dark out. And we don’t have a motorbike, just the SUV. It isn’t ideal, I know, but we can always sell it on the way.”
It's a full thirty seconds before Ianto is able to piece Jack's words together in his mind in some way in which they make sense, and when he does, well, he knows the whole speechless thing is getting old, but to be fair...what the hell is he supposed to say to that?
Then Jack turns off the engine, and it's like the darkness around them is closing in, it's so quiet without that constant hum, and Jack's hand is still on his thigh, and he just.... Well, he really should have known better than to have started this whole thing in the first place, if he didn't want to finish it, he figures.
"Come on," Jack says. His voice is soft, and Ianto can't quite figure out if he's sad, or hurt, or frustrated, but it makes him shift in his seat a little, makes him wish he could get closer to Jack, just for a second. "Humor me," Jack finishes, and Ianto can't help but close his hand over Jack's, can't help but rub his rough fingers along the side of Jack's palm.
"Scotland," Ianto says finally, and the soft smile that crosses Jack's face would have weakened his knees if he hadn't already been sitting down. "I've never been, but my aunt Dorothy always said it was the greenest place she'd ever seen."
"I thought that was Ireland," Jack says, and he turns his hand over so that they're palm to palm.
Ianto swallows, and it catches in his throat. "Well, you know, Ireland is fine, too. Never been there, either. You?" Ianto asks, forgetting for a second who he's talking to, and how little sense that question makes.
Jack just nods and stares forward. The rain batters down around them, picking up steam from somewhere. Ianto's mostly stuck on the blood rushing in his ears though, as Jack grips his hand tightly.
"I wonder if that place is still around..." Jack muses quietly, then smiles over at Ianto. "I stayed on a farm in Scotland, once. The family who ran the bed and breakfast…," he trails off, then grins. "Well, we could head in that direction, anyway, see what we find?"
Ianto stares at him as if he's just suggested opening the rift for kicks, or something equally preposterous.
"Head in that direction? Jack, it's got to be at least an eight hour drive from here."
Jack shrugs slightly. “We’ll stop for coffee.”
Of course, because lack of caffeine is clearly the only thing preventing them from this ridiculously spontaneous and ill-conceived journey.
“We’ve only got one spare set of clothes each. And what about the others?”
When he finishes his sentence, it dawns on Ianto that he isn’t so much trying to talk Jack out of this absurd notion. No, it feels much more like he’s testing his conviction - he actually wants Jack to brush off the inconveniences and drive. Just…drive. And that absolutely terrifies him.
Jack shoots him a half smile. “Scotland does have shops, you know. Shops that sell clothes. It’s the perfect excuse for me to get you in a kilt.”
Ianto allows himself a small, surprised laugh and shakes his head. “And the others?”
“We’ll tell them that UNIT’s requested our input on an urgent matter that required our presence at Torchwood Two and we won’t be back for a week,” Jack suggests with a twinkle in his eye.
That twinkle makes Ianto nervous, makes him question Jack’s seriousness. Either they do this and he spends his time worrying over his responsibilities, or they don’t and he spends his time worrying about missed opportunities. He sighs and gives one final feeble attempt at turning back.
“We’ve already been driving three hours,” he points out. “We should stop off home, get some sleep, grab necessities -”
Jack shakes his head and turns the key in the ignition. The way the SUV roars back to life makes Ianto jump.
“If we don’t go now, we’ll talk ourselves out of it. Send the team a message.”
Ianto is well aware that there was never any turning back since he first opened his mouth, and it’s oddly relieving. The way the road stretches out before them, still, begins to feel more like a promise than a burden. Ianto pulls out his mobile and sends a quick, succinct text that will probably lead to a whole flurry of probing questions. Jack’s hand squeezes his thigh and Ianto inclines his head just so.
“You win,” he smiles. “Drive.”
**
An hour later, they realize they're almost out of petrol, and nothing's open. Of course.
"Bloody Welsh," Jack moans, as they pull up to the third darkened station in thirty minutes. "I swear, you'd think this was England, or something. Why is nothing open?"
Ianto just smiles at him calmly.
"It's four in the morning, Jack."
"So?"
"So everyone's asleep. Like we would be. You know," he stares at him, trying to frown, but feeling his lips twist up into a slight smile anyway; Jack's energy is a bit infectious, after all. "Normally."
"Normally, we would be sitting in the hub waiting for the rift to drop some crap or another in our laps," Jack reminds him, but his eyes still have that familiar twinkle in them. Ianto hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it. "But whatever."
"We can still make it a while longer," Ianto tells him. "Sun'll be up soon, too, so--"
And that's when Jack suddenly leans over the seat and presses his lips to Ianto's mouth. The center console is in the way between them, and it means that Jack has to lean over him awkwardly, all his weight on his arms, and it throws Ianto's balance off just slightly. His head ends up sliding against the window with a dull thunk.
Jack chuckles deep in his throat. "Sorry," he whispers against Ianto's lips. "You okay?"
Ianto shakes his head as much as he can, and then grabs the collar of Jack's coat, pulling him towards him again. He's not quite sure where all this drive is coming from - it wasn't so long ago that he'd wanted nothing more than for Jack to just leave him standing out in the rain while he drove back to the hub without him, for god's sake, but now... now all he can think about is how very, very much he'd missed this.
His lips pressed against Jack’s, their bodies close and awkward, and it’s all Ianto can do to form a sensible, coherent thought. He manages, though, in twice the amount of time it would normally take him.
“At least turn off the engine,” he suggests breathlessly, his lips ghosting over the corner of Jack’s mouth. “Maybe we can wait here until they open.”
Jack grins against his mouth. “And whatever shall we do to occupy ourselves for the next couple of hours, Mr. Jones?”
Pulling away completely, Ianto laughs. “Sleep.”
“Oh, come on. I’ve got you all alone in the middle of nowhere and you want me to sleep?”
Jack gradually runs his fingertips up Ianto’s leg, making his breath hitch. He glances down and then back up at Ianto, a playfully confused frown on his face.
“Your leg’s glowing,” he says casually. “I’m going to take it as a compliment.”
“My - what?” Ianto glances down, too, and chuckles, shifting his body to pull out his mobile. He glances at the device. “It’s Tosh.”
“Tosh made your leg glow? Should I be jealous?” Jack winks and finally turns off the SUV.
“She wants to know if everything’s all right and when we’ll be back. She also notes that Gwen had spoken with UNIT earlier this evening and nothing at all was mentioned about Torchwood Two. She says ‘Have fun’ and has quite graciously included a little winking emoticon.”
Jack laughs heartily. “Tell her everything is lovely and to get some sleep.”
Smiling a little guiltily, Ianto nods and types out a quick message. He would almost prefer if she were angry with them for booking off like this - it’d make everything much easier to deal with. He sends the message, tucks his phone back in his pocket, and turns to Jack.
“What’re we doing?” he asks and then clamps his lips shut; that wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say. Not at all, in fact.
Jack is staring at him, with this funny sort of fond-verging-on-dopey look on his face, and Ianto just blinks at him.
"Jack?" He says, because Jack's still staring, smiling a little now, but mostly just staring. "Hello?"
Jack blinks, smiles a little wider. "It's really good to be back," he says, and then leans back in his seat calmly.
"You've been back for a month," Ianto deadpans. "I think we covered that already, actually."
Jack narrows his eyes. "You asked what we were doing. And I don't know about you, but that's what I was doing."
Ianto is usually pretty good at wrapping his brain around Jack's words, but then again, it's four in the morning, and he's been caffeine-deprived for hours now. He raises his eyebrows, hoping for further clarification.
Jack just stares forward, oblivious. Then he worries his lip a little guiltily.
"Fine," he says, eyes darting away for a second. "I was thinking about how lucky I am that you took me back, okay?"
Ianto stares at him. "I didn't take anything, Jack." Then he softens his voice a little. "I mean, this is just..." And he tries for a gesture that somehow encompasses everything he shares with Jack, but which ends up being mostly a sweeping wave of his hand between them.
Jack shakes his head. "You took me back," he says, and Ianto's throat goes a little dry.
"Why?" Jack asks, turning to him.
"I don't know."
Jack laughs a little. "That might be a problem."
"What do you want me to say?" Ianto asks, honestly.
"Say whatever you want, Ianto," Jack says, and his name on Jack's lips sends a shiver, right down Ianto's spine.
"That," Ianto says, without thinking. "The way you say my name."
Jack smirks a little. "What about it?"
And Ianto stares at Jack, really looks at him for a moment. Really takes in the enormity of everything he is - or at least he tries to, anyway. And then he quickly finds himself distracted by the way Jack's jaw line curves to meet his chin, by the line of his lips. He finds Jack's eyes, meets them.
"No one says my name like that."
Jack smiles softly and leans closer, conspiratorially. “Ianto,” he drawls. “Ianto. Ianto,” he drops his voice to a whisper.
Ianto closes his eyes, his body trembling slightly, and he chastises himself for even mentioning it, knows he’s in trouble now. Jack presses his lips to his jaw and mouths ‘Ianto’ against his skin. And it’s not simply the way Jack says his name, not simply the particular roll of the vowels, or the sharp plosive, or any of that. No. It’s the way the sounds float off of Jack’s lips like a prayer, a benediction, even in their most raging, wrathful moments.
“Ianto,” Jack whispers into his ear, the warm breath sending a chill down his spine.
He reaches out and takes Jack’s jaw in his hand, turning his head so that they face each other head on. He leans forward until looking at Jack makes him cross-eyed, their mouths so close that they’re sharing air. It makes it difficult to breathe, but Ianto isn’t really concerned with that.
“I didn’t take you back,” he says softly. Jack opens his mouth to disagree, but Ianto talks over him. “How could I take you back when I never let you go?”
Time stops for a split second and Ianto’s thoughts spiral into a flurry of self-doubt and the constant mantra of “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, they sounded so pathetic and stupid.
But then time catches up and Jack’s mouth is hungrily trying to devour his own and he can barely remember where they are, let alone what he’s just said.
And it's funny, Ianto had spent hours, maybe days during Jack's absence trying to recall this feeling, but in the end, his memories are nothing like the real thing.
This isn't the first time he's been close to Jack since he's been back, but there's something different, something special about Jack's lips pressed against his like this, like time has stopped, like there's nowhere else either of them would rather be, like it's an active choice to be doing this right here, right now. It's different than in the hub - those quick, hurried moments are satisfying in their own way, but... This, Ianto thinks, this is what he's been missing, like a lost limb, for months and months now.
He breathes Jack in, and everything is so much more alive than he had remembered; the energy seems to pulse off of him in waves. There's nothing desperate at all about Jack's intensity either, and Ianto figures maybe that's because they've already done that, they've already spent enough time clinging to each other over these past few weeks. This is about something else now.
This feels like an affirmation.
Jack's tongue darts over his lips playfully, and Ianto's heart feels like it might burst.
"I missed you," Jack says, his lips still brushing across Ianto's mouth lightly, like he can't decide whether or not he wants to speak, or to continue what is turning into a rather epic make out session. "Not just this though. Everything. I missed you."
And then Jack's voice drops a little, and Ianto can feel him shiver. "I wasn't sure I was coming back, honestly. And all I could think about was how much you'd hate me."
"I could never hate you," Ianto says, and presses his lips to Jack's. "Never."
There’s a lot behind that statement, too. They aren’t just words tossed about, because Ianto has tried to hate Jack numerous times. He’s had ample reason to, really, and has practically meditated on contempt. Hatred, like death, simply just doesn’t stick to Jack. At least, not where Ianto’s concerned.
Jack makes some sort of indistinguishable noise against Ianto’s mouth and then sighs contentedly.
“You’d be the first,” he murmurs as he pulls away.
Ianto tries to follow, but there’s the whole center console issue in between them and he wonders if he can talk Jack into the backseat. Then he tries very hard not to laugh at himself for thinking he’d actually have to actively persuade Jack Harkness into anything of the sort.
He opens his mouth to ask, but Jack is looking at the horizon as though he’s waiting for something, and so Ianto looks, too.
“Sun’s coming up,” Jack quietly informs and then grasps Ianto’s hand. His thumb rubs small circles into Ianto’s palm, and it’s somehow even more intimate than their previous actions.
“Are you trying to watch a sunrise with me?” Ianto asks, hoping the amusement in his voice sufficiently covers the loud beating of his heart.
Jack chuckles. “Maybe.”
“Well,” Ianto says, taking a deep, fortifying breath. “We’re facing in the wrong direction for that.”
He opens the door to the SUV and Jack looks at him curiously. Ianto simply nods with his head, the only indication that Jack should follow. The early morning air is cold but sweet. There’s a clarity to it that cuts through the sleepy fog in his brain as he opens the back of the SUV. Jack stands back, watches, and Ianto can feel the gaze sweep over his body. It’s oddly reassuring. Shifting the box they’d retrieved from UNIT, he settles himself down, as comfortably as he can manage in the tight space.
“Coming?” he asks Jack with a raised eyebrow.
The rain had stopped a while ago, and above them the sky is clearing.
Jack settles down next to him, his coat wrapped around him like a blanket, and Ianto is suddenly acutely aware of his heart in his chest, thumping a little wildly as Jack's hand snakes around his waist. Their fingers brush together lightly as he finds a comfortable position.
There's a lump in Ianto’s throat that he has to swallow past before he can speak - at least he thinks he might want to speak, but when he glances over at Jack, at his profile in the early morning light, at his eyes, the way they're catching little flecks of brightness in them, he finds that he honestly just doesn't have it in him to disturb this moment.
He wonders with a sudden intensity that only makes his heart thump faster, how many sunrises must Jack have witnessed already on this planet, or on others, landscapes that he can’t even begin to imagine.
He draws in a long breath of crisp air. Doesn't matter, he tells himself, and concentrates on Jack's smooth fingertips, on the warmth of Jack’s body next to him.
He closes his eyes against the urge to make several sudden, absolutely mad confessions about everything from his feelings for Jack, to his philosophy on the universe, to the meaning of life itself. Instead he just rests his head on Jack's shoulder for a moment, and breathes.
“This is nice,” Jack says finally, and Ianto realizes he hasn’t opened his eyes in a while.
He opens them now, and the light on the horizon in front of them is so brilliant, it almost takes his breath away.
‘Nice’ doesn’t really do it justice, so he nudges Jack’s shoulder with his own. The movement is awkward at best, the contorted position they’re currently in making any pointed gesture difficult to execute. Still, Jack nudges back and kisses the top of his head. Ianto hums in response. It isn’t really a conversation, but it conveys enough.
“When was the last time you saw a sunrise?” Jack asks, the words quietly pressed into Ianto’s hair, teasing the strands with his breath.
“Yesterday,” Ianto mumbles sleepily. “We left before six, remember?”
Jack chuckles. “No, I mean actually saw a sunrise?”
“Oh.” The word is a breath on the breeze, carried out over the expanse of grey-green hills before them. “I don’t remember. You?”
Yet another question he immediately wishes to retract. He doesn’t want to think about it, really, but there is a part of him that wants to know. The clouds above him meander sluggishly passed the half-sun dancing on the horizon, tipped in gold and pink. The sky is melting from purple to pale blue.
“It’s been a while,” Jack admits from somewhere far away. “I see more sunsets than sunrises.”
Ianto moves closer; it seems like the only thing he can do as he tries to figure out whether Jack is being literal, metaphorical, or both.
“The station should open soon,” he finally says.
"Bugger," Jack says, a little glumly, but then turns to Ianto with one of those flashing, blinding smiles that always threatens to melt Ianto's heart from the inside out.
"What?" he asks, laughing when Jack leans into him a little, nose poking against Ianto's cheek.
"Well, I guess the SUV does have tinted windows..." He grins. "So that you can get some sleep," he clarifies, and then his smile turns a little softer. "You look tired," Jack says, and then stares out at the sky.
"I can sleep while you drive, you know."
"Maybe I wanted to join you."
Ianto smiles a little, and turns to Jack. "We could also find a motel, or something. You know, with an actual bed."
Jack just nods absently, his attention elsewhere, and Ianto follows his gaze. Out on the horizon, Ianto can just make out the dark shapes of mountains off in the distance, rising out of the clouds, smeared with bright yellow-orange light at the base, but with clouds still hovering at the top.
And then the light glows just so, and a hazy memory comes into focus - not his last sunrise he's sure, but...
Her name had been Maggie. It'd been March, and they’d wandered around until almost dawn, dirty piles of snow still melting around the edges of the streets. They’d spent hours smoking cigarettes, and trying to convince the old guys hanging round outside the pub on High Street to snag them a few beers. When that didn’t work, they’d climbed up on a wall behind an abandoned car park, and watched the sun peek up over the houses below them. She’d swung her feet too hard, and Ianto’d had to climb down to retrieve her shoe so that they could walk home. He’d been 14, and at the end of the whole thing he’d gotten to second base, back in her parent’s bedroom, and it had been brilliant.
Ten years later, and he’s pretty sure this one is better - no offense to Maggie.
“You’re thinking,” Jack stage whispers, a hint of accusation in his voice, but it’s light and free of worry.
“Sorry. Won’t let it happen again,” Ianto smiles. “We should get…” he waves his hand around vaguely. “Petrol. And coffee. When they open.” He yawns.
“I think you’re well beyond coffee, Mr. Jones.”
Pressing his face into Jack’s shoulder, Ianto yawns again. “’M fine, really. We’ve got…long drive.”
He isn’t sure how the exhaustion managed to just completely waylay him, but he feels it creep into his bones and settle there contentedly. Some unseen hand forces his eyes closed and Maggie says something about milk, which makes Jack laugh and tell Owen to bring the cats inside because it’s almost time for Scrabble; John Hart will be there soon and really, the post can’t be delayed by another tomato epidemic, and everything seems soft and warm and he can hear Jack’s heartbeat a thousand miles away.
“Ianto,” it says.
Except that hearts don’t talk. Right. That would be Jack.
He blinks his eyes open, though the muscles are reluctant to move.
“Hrmph?”
Jack’s eyes crinkle in the corners. They’re suspiciously bright and joyful but Ianto doesn’t want to question anything right now.
“Get in the front. I’m going to fill up the SUV, and then we’ll find a place to rest, okay?”
“Mmm,” he mumbles as he untangles himself from Jack’s arms and legs and the cramped back of the vehicle. “And then Scotland?”
It seems like another part of his delusional sleep-thoughts, but Jack is nodding enthusiastically, honestly, even.
“And then Scotland.”
***
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